Valentin nodded. “I spoke with him.”
“Rotislav said he was looking for work.”
“We could do with extra help, Your Highness.”
“I did not like the look of him,” Priscilla said. “I told Rotislav to bring him up to the house. But he has not done so. Now I wish you to tell him to send him away.”
“If that is what you wish, Your Highness.”
Priscilla arched her eyebrows. “You do not approve?”
“It is not my business to approve or disapprove of your decisions, Your Highness.”
“Except in matters of religion. But I would like you to speak your mind.”
Valentin hesitated. “This man has been speaking against you. Not you, personally, Your Highness. Against all landowners. Against the very principle of princes, and counts, and barons.”
“Then surely the sooner we get him off my property the better. He must be one of these Socialists.”
“The government is now Socialist, Your Highness.”
“Does that mean we have to accept them on my property? I want him off Bolugayen, Father. Tomorrow.” Valentin looked doubtful, but he bowed in acquiescence.
To Priscilla’s great relief, none of the three fugitives appeared to have suffered any serious physical consequences from their horrendous flight. And it had, apparently, been horrendous. They had had to use all their money, and then sell their jewellery, to obtain seats in overcrowded third-class carriages, crammed cheek-by-jowl with people they would never have looked at on the street; once they had even had to travel by cattle car. It was Nathalie who volunteered all this information. “Of course,” she said, “Sonia knows all about travelling by cattle car. That is how she went to Siberia, when she was exiled.”
“I had no idea you and the Princess Dowager were so close,” Priscilla remarked to Sonia, when they were alone.
Sonia gave one of those twisted smiles. “There have been times when I would cheerfully have strangled the woman, Your Highness. We are only close by force of circumstances.”
Priscilla found the love-hate relationship shared by the three women interesting, but then, she found everything about Sonia interesting. There was so much she wanted to ask her, and not only about the journey from Petrograd or what Alexei had been like as a young man. It was the woman herself, her experiences, some of them so terrible, that fascinated her. But she knew it would have to be a slow and careful business; much of Sonia’s life was locked away in a mental safe to which Priscilla wondered if even Sonia herself still held the key. But as winter turned into spring she felt a definite closeness was growing between them. Because Sonia knew so much, and so many people, and about recent events she was quite happy to speak, although even here Priscilla felt that her recollections were being carefully censored. Not only had she known Rasputin, quite well, apparently, but she had been intimate with the Royal Family, and had met Kerensky, who almost everyone agreed was the true head of the new government. Sonia indeed was most anxious about the fate of the Royals, and eagerly devoured every bit of news that came out of Poltava. “He promised that they would be sent to England,” she told Priscilla. “Oh, I so hope those lovely girls manage to get out.”
But all they could learn was that the Romanov family had been removed from Petrograd ‘to a place of safety.’ For the rest, a certain stability seemed to have descended on the country. The front was being held in the west, and of course the news that the United States was now involved, on the Allied side, was enormously encouraging, while nothing else had really changed on the home front. As always with the coming of spring, food became more readily available in the cities, and living conditions generally improved. There had never been any food shortages on Bolugayen, but Priscilla was relieved to find her people smiling again, although not quite as readily as in the days before the war. She discussed the situation with Boscowski, and found him disturbingly pessimistic.
“The fact is, Your Highness, that everyone is unsettled. You know, with the deepest respect, when the Tsar was on the throne, while times might sometimes have been hard, there was a sense of stability. Now that has gone. The people are waiting to see what else will go, what Prince Lvov will be able to do to improve their lives.”
“Surely they can understand that he can do very little until the war ends?” Priscilla asked.
“Ah, well, Your Highness, there is another point. Many people feel the war is the Tsar’s war. Or was the Tsar’s war. They cannot understand why Prince Lvov does not make peace. They do not understand about treaties with the English and the French. All they want is for their loved ones to come home — or at least to know whether they are alive or dead. As do you, Your Highness.”
“Yes, Tigran Ivanovich,” Priscilla said. “As do I.”
Priscilla found herself sharing more and more of the running of the estate with her predecessor, who knew so much about it. Anna of course did not approve. But then, Anna did not approve of Sonia’s being on Bolugayen at all, and Priscilla was sure that it was the old lady who was keeping little Anna’s mind closed to the reappearance of her mother. Sonia was desperate to regain some intimacy with her daughter, to discover some spark of love or even affection. But Little Anna steadfastly refused to treat her mother as other than a not altogether welcome guest. In that regard Priscilla placed her faith in time and nature, but she was saddened that she and the grandmother who had been her friend and mentor throughout her adult life should have drifted apart. Anna spent more time with Sophie and Janine nowadays, often joined by Nathalie and Dagmar, but they did nothing except drink tea or champagne, or in Nathalie’s case, vodka. But Sonia was interested in everything that was going on. Everything that she had had to abandon; in the changes in the estate in the more than five years she had been away. She accompanied Priscilla into the village, and was warmly greeted by Geller. “He delivered both my children,” she told Priscilla.
“As he delivered mine,” Priscilla replied.
When she came face to face with Rotislav Sonia looked taken aback. “Were you not with Prince Alexei?” she asked the valet, who was now Boscowski’s assistant as there remained nothing for him to do about the house.
“I was, Your Highness. But I escaped.”
“It is a long story,” Priscilla said, anxious to be away. “It was Rotislav who brought me the news that Alexei is still alive.” They walked their horses back to the house, their grooms at a discreet distance. “Did he always look at you like that?” Priscilla asked.
“No,” Sonia said. “Has he always looked at you like that?”
“Only since he came back from the war. It is as if...I don’t really know.”
“He looks at you like that because he wants to have you,” Sonia said.
“To...” Priscilla was too taken aback to speak.
“And I would say he would like to have me, too. And you have only his word for it that Alexei is alive. Or, was alive, at any rate.”
“What could he possibly hope to gain by saying that if it wasn’t true? If, as you say, he wants to, well...”
“As you say, I don’t know. I only know that he has changed. Why do you keep him? There is surely no valeting to be done?”
Priscilla considered. “I suppose I just never thought of not keeping him. Anyway, he is not around the house, now. He assists Boscowski. But this is his home. I could not possibly throw him off Bolugayen. I mean...” She flushed. “I do not suppose he is the only man on Bolugayen who has ever dreamed of well...”
“Holding you naked in his arms? I imagine not. And presumably it is a compliment, to be desired by every man who looks at you. But Rotislav...I sometimes wonder if men like him ever have homes,” Sonia said thoughtfully.
Priscilla preferred not to think about Rotislav. She was only relieved that as the spring went into the summer, Bolugayen remained unchanged. For a great deal was happening in the rest of Russia. They heard first of all of how the Bolsheviks had attempted a coup, which had been smashed; all their leaders had been forced
to go into hiding, including men with well-known names like Lenin and Trotsky. “Were you not exiled with Lenin?” she asked Sonia.
“Yes,” Sonia said. “I did not even know he was back in Russia.”
“And this man Trotsky? Did you ever meet him?”
Sonia hesitated before replying. Then she said, “Yes, I met him. He is a fool. He will get himself hanged, or shot.” She spoke with a quite unusual vehemence. But apparently Kerensky was not having it all his own way either, and later on that summer they heard how, having taken over the government from Prince Lvov, he had been forced to flee Petrograd for Moscow, partly because the German advance through the Baltic States was threatening the capital, but also partly because of the unrest there. “Those poor girls,” Sonia said. “He promised to help them get out of Russia.”
“You mean you can feel sorry for them?” Priscilla asked. “Did not their father send you into exile? And was it not he who encouraged Alexei to divorce you?”
“I suppose that’s true. But those girls were so sweet. And so lovely.” She sighed. “And now so helpless.”
“Maybe they’ve already left the country,” Priscilla said encouragingly. “Or found a haven like Bolugayen, which seems like an island of peace and plenty in a sea of human misery.”
The current harvest was one of their best ever. Priscilla was sitting at her desk checking Boscowski’s returns on a day in September when she was summoned by a huge explosion of noise in the hall. She ran out on to the gallery, and looked down at Patricia. “Aunt Pat!” she cried. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“Recovering from my journey,” Patricia said. “Before anything else. Do you realise that it has taken me four months to get here?”
Looking past her at the boxes being unloaded from the van she appeared to have hired in Poltava, and the smaller bags being manhandled by Morgan and Giselle, Priscilla could well understand that, although her aunt looked as flawlessly chic as ever. She went down the stairs. “You do realise there is a war on?”
Patricia gave her niece-in-law — who was also her second cousin — a withering glance. “I was nearly sunk by a submarine, but the beastly thing missed, thank God. Aunt Anna!” Anna had also appeared on the gallery. “It is good to see you looking so well.” And, as Anna was clearly not coming down, she gathered her skirts and went up the stairs.
Priscilla looked at Morgan. “I think I should leave explanations to madam, Your Highness.”
“Well, you are welcome, of course. Madame Xenia...”
“I shall see to it immediately, Your Highness.” Xenia bustled off to marshal her housemaids and prepare guest apartments.
While there was a fresh explosion of sound from above. “Sonia? Sonia! Oh, my darling Sonia!” Sonia was in Patricia’s arms.
“Well, really!” Sophie commented from further along the gallery.
“But how on earth did you get here?” Sonia asked, when they were all seated in the summer parlour drinking tea.
“I took one of Duncan’s ships across the Atlantic. That was when we had that fuss with the submarine. Then I had to visit the family in Boston. That took time. Then I had to cross America. That was fun. Then I had to find a ship from San Francisco to Tokyo. That took a month in itself. Then I had to get to Vladivostock. That wasn’t too difficult. But the people! They were so rude. I felt quite ashamed to be Russian. Then I had to find seats on the train for the three of us. That took a week. Then the journey itself took a fortnight; the beastly thing kept breaking down. But it was all rather fun.”
The other women exchanged glances. None of them had been so fancy free for a long time. “But why have you done all this?” Anna enquired. “It may have been fun, but it sounds dreadfully inconvenient.”
“I have come,” Patricia announced, including them all in her gaze, “to take you out of here.”
“Out of where?” Anna enquired.
“Now, Aunt Anna, you know what I mean. You cannot possibly stay on Bolugayen.”
“Why not?”
“Well...there is a war on. Revolution is in the air. The Germans might invade the Donbass at any moment. Besides, Duncan insists that you come out.”
“If he is that worried, why did he not come himself?”
“Because he is fighting this war,” Patricia said, beginning to show signs of irritation. “Ships are the lifeblood of the Allies. And he has ships. So he has to control them. I have come all this way, and been nearly drowned in the process. You must come out.”
“I can see no possible reason for leaving Bolugayen,” Anna declared.
Patricia looked at her sister. “England is a ghastly place,” Sophie declared.
“How do you know?” Patricia demanded. “You have never been there.”
“We need to be here,” Janine explained. “So that as soon as things return to normal, we may go home. I expect to hear from my husband at any moment.”
“What makes you suppose things are ever going to return to normal?”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Sophie remarked. “Of course they will. They always do.”
Patricia turned to Sonia. “Surely you will come with me?”
Sonia looked across the room to where little Anna was following the argument with enormous eyes. “I have to stay, Trishka,” she murmured.
“For heaven’s sake, Priscilla,” Patricia said. “You are the Princess. Tell them they must come away. You must come away. Think of the children!”
“I am thinking of the children, and thus I cannot leave Bolugayen, Aunt Pat,” Priscilla said. “I am in charge here, until Alexei comes back. Or Colin.” She glanced at Sonia.
“But don’t you see,” Patricia almost begged. “If you stay, they’ll stay. At least tell them to go.”
“I cannot tell them to do anything,” Priscilla said. “Least of all to leave their home. But...” she looked around the faces. “I think Aunt Pat is probably right, and it would be best for you all to go, while you can.”
“Stuff and nonsense,” Anna said. “None of us is going anywhere. Our place is here, with the Princess. You should know that better than anyone, Patricia.”
“It is madness,” Patricia said guiding her horse up the slope of the hill to the west of Bolugayen. “Surely you can see that? The Socialists are in power. They are going to make life very difficult for everyone with any money. I’m not talking about just putting up taxes. They’re going to take away our land, give it to the muzhiks...they may even take away our titles. In England, people like Lloyd George keep talking about doing away with the. House of Lords. And he doesn’t even call himself a Socialist!”
“Is that a reason for running away?” Sonia rode beside her friend. They were alone: as neither was actually a ruling member of the family the grooms had not instinctively followed them. Besides, they wanted to be alone. Although Patricia had now been on Bolugayen for over a week, they had had very little time to themselves.
“Okay,” Patricia said. “Maybe Priscilla has a reason for staying. She has a stake here; it’s her business to salvage what she can from the wreck. Maybe Aunt Anna has a reason; she always was mule-headed, although Duncan is going to be hopping mad if I go back without her. As for Sophie and Janine, well, to hell with them.” She giggled. “But you, Sonia...there is nothing here for you. Come with me. Please.”
“I can’t, Trishka. You know that. Priscilla has made me welcome here. I never really expected that. And Anna...I was forced to abandon her once. I am never going to abandon her again.”
“Wouldn’t Priscilla let you take her out?”
“No. Anna is also Alexei’s daughter. And Priscilla expects Alexei to come home, one day. And when he does...”
“Yes. When he does. Where do you think you will be then?”
“I shall be wherever Priscilla chooses.”
Patricia drew rein. “You’re really fond of her, aren’t you. I find that incredible. When you think what she did to you, I don’t see how you cannot hate her.”
�
��She did nothing to me,” Sonia said. “It was all done before Alexei even met her. And now...yes, I like her. But I also feel sorry for her. She’s going through hell.”
“What does she know about hell? When you think what you and I have experienced together, while she has only ever lived on the fat of the land...”
“There was the Titanic,” Sonia protested.
“Oh, boo. Can you really relate a shipwreck to being a prisoner of the Okhrana? To trying to exist in Siberia?”
“All things are relative,” Sonia argued. “I think she has a lot more guts than is immediately apparent. I also think things are going to get worse before they get better, and that she is going to need all the help she can get. Anyway, there’s Colin. I don’t believe he’s dead. I know he’s going to come home, one day. I mean to be here when he does. Or some place he can find me, anyway.”
“If he wants to. Don’t you realise that his mind has also been poisoned against you?”
“I am prepared to risk that.”
“Well, of course what you do is up to you. But I am going to have to leave and go back, before winter sets in. I don’t want to, but Duncan will be raising the roof if I don’t. So...what’s that noise?”
“People,” Sonia said, and urged her horse to the top of the slope to look down into the valley behind. This was on the northern side of the estate, and the road into Poltava was some miles behind them. They looked at some fifty men, coming towards them across the black earth of the bare fields. Sonia frowned. The men wore uniforms, and were armed with rifles and bayonets.
Patricia joined her. “Good lord!” she commented. “Those aren’t Germans, are they?”
“They’re Russians,” Sonia said. “I think we should go home.”
“But we must find out what they are doing on our property,” Patricia insisted. “They could be retreating before the Germans.”
“If the Germans have conquered the Ukraine and are invading the Donbass, we would surely have heard,” Sonia said. “We would have heard the sound of gunfire, for a start. Those men are deserters. Come on, Trishka, let’s get out of here.”
The Red Tide Page 28
